


you'll always win (even when i'm right)

by lyryk (s_k)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/pseuds/lyryk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robo!Sam can’t understand why Dean won’t sleep with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you'll always win (even when i'm right)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glovered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glovered/gifts).



> Thanks to the lovely and brilliant [](http://applegeuse.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://applegeuse.livejournal.com/)**applegeuse** for making this a lot more readable than it originally was.

 

 

 

Dean wakes up to Sam straddling him, his huge hands covering Dean’s ears, his nose against Dean’s neck.

‘Sam, what the fuck. Get off me.’

Sam raises his head. ‘Is this not okay?’ He sounds wide awake. Dean had almost forgotten that the little fucker doesn’t sleep.

‘No.’ Dean pushes half-heartedly at Sam’s hips, but Sam doesn’t budge. ‘Come on, man. This isn’t you.’

‘We kind of established that already,’ Sam says, smirking, but he slides off Dean and rolls over onto his back.

Dean kicks his ankle. ‘Go back to your bed.’

Surprisingly, Sam obeys without a word. But he does run his hand down Dean’s bare calf before he gets out of bed, and Dean’s skin prickles where Sam has touched him, like there’s something under his skin that he can’t quite reach.

 

\--

 

‘I’m still me,’ Sam says at breakfast. ‘Look.’ He pulls down his collar to reveal the tattoo on his chest, as if Dean doesn’t know it’s there. ‘Same body and everything. Why can’t we fuck?’

Kid never did know how to let things go. ‘Shut up and eat your fries.’

Sam reaches over to dip a fry into the ketchup on Dean’s plate. ‘How about we do it just once? If you don’t like it, we won’t do it again.’

‘Jesus, Sam.’ Dean scrubs a hand over his face. ‘You wanna get laid so bad, go find someone else.’ The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Apparently, having a robot for a brother makes you say epically stupid shit.

Sam’s eyebrows rise. ‘You okay with that?’ He looks around the diner, almost as though he’s already on the lookout for someone to fuck.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Dean asks irritably. It’s not like his stomach’s lurching unpleasantly, or anything like that.

Sam slurps thoughtfully at his soda, eyeing Dean over the rim of his glass, and doesn’t say anything else. Thank fuck for small mercies.

 

\--

 

They spend the day staking out a house in suburbia. The parents are clean, but either the little girl or the cat is possessed.

‘Why can’t we take them both out?’ Sam asks for the fourth time.

‘Because we don’t go around killing innocent kids, all right?’

It turns out it’s the cat that’s possessed.

They get back to the motel room with Dean bearing scratch marks all down his arms, his sleeves shredded. Not all the scratches are from the cat. It turns out little girls can be surprisingly vicious when men with guns turn up to confiscate their pets.

Sam doesn’t have a mark on him. ‘Hey, at least the cat survived, right? You should be happy.’

Dean doesn’t reply. He goes into the bathroom, splashes antiseptic on the scratches and changes into jeans and a t-shirt. Sam’s sitting in an armchair with a beer, long legs stretched out in front of him, when Dean emerges from the bathroom. Sam’s watching him with narrowed eyes, but Dean ignores him. He grabs his jacket and lets the door slam satisfyingly behind him on the way out. It’s always the little things that bring you the most joy.

 

\--

 

The bartender’s cute. She’s got pretty brown hair piled on top of her head, ringlets escaping to graze her cheeks. They’re having a pretty animated conversation about metal versus grunge when she glances toward the door, distracted. ‘I’d hit that in a hurry,’ she says.

Dean turns. Sam’s there, looking around the bar languidly. His gaze settles on Dean, and there’s that fucking smirk again. He’s wearing Dean’s black AC/DC t-shirt and it’s snug around his broad chest, short sleeves showing off his arms. He’s got his tightest jeans on.

He’s also wearing eyeliner.

Dean suppresses a shudder and turns back to the bartender. ‘Not my type,’ he says, downing the rest of his drink in two gulps and pushing his empty glass forward.

‘Looks like you’re his type.’ The bartender refills his glass. ‘He can’t take his eyes off you, dude.’

 

\--

 

Apparently Sam doesn’t have eyes just for Dean, because he joins a group that’s playing pool at a corner table, accepting a cigarette from someone and spending a few minutes taking leisurely drags and sending smoke curling up to the ceiling. Dean doesn’t turn around to look at him again, but the bartender keeps him informed of Sam’s movements. She’s assumed that the tall guy is Dean’s boyfriend and they’ve had a spat. Dean doesn’t bother to correct her. It’s not even like she’s wrong, really.

‘What’s he doing now?’ Dean asks after a while.

‘Seems to have hit it off with that giant dude with the tattoos.’

‘What?’ Dean spins around so fast that he gives himself a crick in the neck.

It’s true. Sam is leaning back against the pool table, smiling up at some huge guy who dwarfs even Dean’s giant little brother. The guy’s beefy hand glides up Sam’s back in a surprisingly graceful movement and twists into his hair, and Dean’s had enough of this charade. He pulls a couple of bills from his wallet and tosses them onto the counter. ‘Keep the change.’

‘Go get him, tiger.’

He’s got a hand on the back of Sam’s t-shirt almost before she’s finished her sentence. He drags Sam away from the guy and shoves him back against the wall. Hard. ‘What the fuck, Sam?’

Sam pushes himself away from the wall and grabs Dean’s collar with both hands, pulling Dean against his body. ‘Knew you’d see things my way,’ he says, and his mouth comes down on Dean’s. Dean’s expecting it to be hard and bruising, but Sam kisses him slowly and carefully, his hands releasing Dean’s collar and cupping his face. Dean fists his hands in Sam’s t-shirt and shoves him back against the wall, prying his lips open and tasting smoke and beer and those salted peanuts that Sam’s always had a weakness for.

Behind him, Beefy Guy is yelling something about Sam being a cocktease. Sam stops kissing Dean long enough to look over Dean’s shoulder and say mildly, ‘Sorry, man. Looks like my boyfriend’s back.’

‘Think about touching him again and I’ll rip your arm off,’ Dean says over his shoulder, not even bothering to look at the guy. The words are perfunctory at best, but Dean’s almost enjoying playing the jealous boyfriend.

He takes Sam’s hand and tugs him out of the bar before they start a brawl. In the parking lot, Sam lets Dean press him up against the Impala and they kiss like no one’s watching.

 

\--

 

It’s fifteen minutes later—most of them spent driving with the cold wind in his face—that the guilt sets in.

Sam’s all over him almost before the Impala comes to a stop in front of their motel room. ‘Dean,’ he’s saying, laying wet, messy kisses on Dean’s lips, his hands everywhere. ‘Dean.’

‘Sam, come on, c’mon, stop.’

‘Why?’ Sam’s breathing hard against Dean’s neck, his fingers splayed over Dean’s back under his shirt. He kisses his way back up, mouth trailing over Dean’s throat and finding Dean’s lips again.

‘Sam, don’t do this to me. Come on.’

Sam pulls away. ‘What? What’m I doing?’

‘I can’t do this, Sam. Not until you get your soul back.’

Sam’s gaze surveys him thoughtfully. ‘Okay.’

‘Okay? Just like that?’

‘Yeah.’ Sam shrugs. ‘Whatever you want, Dean.’

Dean doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. He straightens his shirt and runs a hand over his hair. ‘Okay, good.’

Sam reaches for the door handle. ‘So we’re not going to kiss, but we can still fuck, right?’ he asks cheerfully.

Dean thumps his forehead against the steering wheel with a groan. ‘I fucking hate you.’

Sam laughs out loud. ‘No, you don’t. You love me.’

Dean can’t bring himself to disagree.

 

 

 

~end

 

(thank you for reading!)


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